


Reunion

by MinervaDashwood



Series: Maddy Brosca [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pregnant, Reunion, Warden Alistair needs more stories, pregnancy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaDashwood/pseuds/MinervaDashwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair and Maddy reunite at Skyhold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Pregnancy fics usually aren't my thing. But [adaar-approves](adaar-approves.tumblr.com) gave me this prompt, and I had fun with it. 
> 
> This isn't a part of my headcanon, so it's more like an experiment, I guess? Maddy is happily child-free in my version of things.

Alistair had long grown bored with the dinners at Skyhold. It seemed nobility from Orlais streamed in and out of the place, so that every few days, he found himself surrounded by a new set of masked faces.

He should be eating with the soldiers, not the Inquisitor’s inner circle and their noble guests. He supposed he had Leliana to thank for that, as well as his spacious room just off the ramparts. That thought, however, only served to remind him of Maddy, traveling these past months--farther west than he’d ever been--and spending night after night in a tent. While he lived in this castle, biding his time before traveling to Weisshaupt.

The double doors to the main hall opened. A flurry of clerks and scouts stomped past the long tables and to the head table, each one going to their respective commanders for hushed exchanges.

That was odd, he noted, as Comte something-or-other elbowed him and spilled wine on the tablecloth.

At the head table, Leliana and Cullen rose, gesturing to the Inquisitor that she wasn’t needed. As they walked by, Leliana met his gaze and indicated that he should follow them.

Thank the Maker. He’d raid the kitchens later. Or maybe that flaxen-haired boy with the hat would help him pilfer some cheese. The lad always seemed to know when Alistair was hungriest.

He caught up with Leliana and Cullen, falling into step between them. What business would it be that required him, but not the Inquisitor?

Oh, right. Darkspawn.

“Do I need my sword?” he asked as they exited the main hall. The sun was low over the western mountains and the evening air just cool enough to be uncomfortable.

Leliana giggled. “Not unless you’re prone to greeting your brethren with weapons instead of civility.” She looked at him, her eyes dancing playfully. He remembered that look. She’d worn that same expression during the Blight, when he caught her and Maddy discussing his _performance._

He cleared his throat. “I get the distinct feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh?” she smiled. “I thought I was making it quite obvious.”

He froze on the steps. Brethren. Not darkspawn.

 _Maddy_.

He flew down the steps, giving no heed to anything but getting to the gate as quickly as possible. Before he made it, however, a few mounts and travelers were already strolling in.

He scanned them, looking for her on foot because she _hated_ riding horseback. But none of the faces were hers. He watched, breathing heavily, fists at his sides. Surely she was with them. He began to panic. If she wasn’t here, then what had happened, had she--

“Alistair?”

Oh, _that voice_. He turned, his heart beating so hard he felt like it’d burst out of his chest. He looked down where she should be and saw a horse’s legs.

“Up here. I’m taller. For once.”

He looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. She was here. With him. _Safe_.

“You going to help me down or not?” She smiled at him, all warmth and happiness, glowing.

“My love,” he breathed, going to her. He reached up and she slid into his arms, as kissable and soft as he remembered, but better than his memories, better than his dreams because this was _real._

She sighed against him and buried her head in the crook of his neck. “I missed you,” she whispered.

He held her for a moment, getting used to her nearness and her scent (mostly dirt and horse, but also the hint of vanilla from the oil she used on her hair).

“I love you so much,” he told her, remembering the Fade, the trials he’d faced without her. All of it worthwhile to hold her again. “I’m so happy you’re home.” Home meant _together_ , sleeping next to each other each night, greeting every day as husband and wife, rather than as separated lovers.

She lifted her head, and he saw that she was crying, too. It was so unlike her, that the sight worried him. She’d cry alone or with him, but never in front of others, especially not before her subordinates. He lowered her to the ground and knelt in front of her.

Once she was out of his arms, she grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely, her tears mixing with his. He gave as good as he got, holding her close and rekindling all the embers that had been dying since she left.

When they stopped for a breath, he rested his forehead against hers, and she smiled at him. “I’m sorry. That’s been happening a lot lately.”

“The kissing or the crying?” he joked, hoping neither one was the answer.

“The crying.” She bit her bottom lip and held his face again, her little thumbs stroking his jawline. “I have some news.”

“You found it?” He asked.

“Oh? That. Yes, we found it. Well, we found Avernus, and he found it. Or made it.” She gazed into his eyes and started crying again. “That’s not what I meant.” Her voice trembled, and Alistair wanted with every fiber of his being to know what in Thedas had put her in such a state.

“What is it, love?” he asked, rubbing the small of her back.

“You can’t see it?”

He searched her face for the answer, but nothing seemed different. A bad scar then?

She took a few steps away, and he had to reconcile himself to the distance before fully seeing her. No armor, in fact, not her clothes at all, but a tunic with the sleeves rolled up and trousers with legs in a similar state.

She put a hand on her stomach and smiled at him faintly. He looked from her smile to her belly, realizing it was large and round under the tunic.

He furrowed his brow. That wasn’t possible. Ten years they’d lain together and nothing had ever come of it.

He dragged a hand through his hair. Had someone forced themselves on her? The thought sickened him. Not his Maddy. Maybe in her life before, but never since the Blight. Something consensual then? Despairing, he scanned the faces of the men milling around the square. It had been a long time, he told himself, stomach in knots, over six months. Maybe she found someone else to share her tent.

Suddenly, her hand was on his cheek. “Oh, Alistair, it’s yours.” She smoothed her hand across his brow, massaging away the tension in his forehead. “I would never…”she was crying again, and clutched the color of his shirt. “Only you.”

“But how?” he gasped, unable to believe it. He searched her eyes for answers.

“It’s a long story.”  

She stepped closer to him, in his arms again, only now he touched a hand to her belly, gazing at it in wonderment. _His_. _Theirs_. He would hear the story later, but for now, he only wanted to hold her. Hold them.

 

 


End file.
